Inside My Coffin
by Sanqhian
Summary: It happened only a week ago. And now Nick's life is changing again. But will love be enough to save him? [slash]
1. Intro

**Title: **Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer: **Serious angst. Suicide. Slash. Violence.

**POV: **Nick

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**Intro **

_Frequently I sit and wonder. Does my life mean anything? To anyone? Have I made a difference? If I've made a difference, will they remember me when I'm gone? Was the difference enough to actually change a life? Sure, my work is to solve crimes. But that just makes me a puzzle solver._

_All anyone ever sees is the CSI. They never see the person under the initials. They never think about me and the things in my life. No one ever looks pass the gun. It's always about the gun. What does he do with that gun? Does he know how to use it? Can he defend himself?_

_Obviously I can't defend myself. That guy got the better of me. He was able to kidnap me from a fake crime scene. I was too dumb to notice the signs. Too dumb to put up a fight. You all watched me as I suffered. You saved me. You think I'm better. I can see it in your eyes. You all see the me that I was before. Before I was locked up in a coffin and buried alive. But that me is long gone. I got passed the babysitter who molested me. I got passed having guns pointed at me. I've even gotten passed being stalked and nearly killed by that maniac. All of those things seem so unimportant. So minor. Why can't any of you see that I'm hurting so bad inside?_

_Sara, I know that you have your owner troubles. I know about your parents. You think that Grissom is the only one who knows. But I do. And I understand why you are the way you are. I don't blame you. In fact, I believe I understand you better. Who wouldn't be bitter if their mother murdered their father? That is definitely not a happy childhood. Then you fall in love with someone who doesn't return those feelings. Yes, Grissom cares about you. As a friend. You want so much more though. _

_Grissom, you are the most aggravating person I know. How can you work a job that is all about people when you have absolutely no people skills? I have never met anyone else like you. You find solace in your science and your bugs. But deep down, you'll never be happy. You're ignoring what's right in front of you. Open your eyes. Look at the world as it really is. Not the way it needs to be._

_Catherine, what can be said about you? You made a difference in your life. You changed it. Not a lot of showgirls would give up all that money to work with dead bodies. But you did. For your daughter. She is your meaning for living. I catch you staring at her picture when you think no one is looking. Maybe you should take some time off. Spend it with her before she's gone. You'll regret it if you don't. They grow up so fast. Just ask Brass._

_Warrick, a man of so many mysteries. You took everyone by surprise when we found out that you had gotten married. I never expected you to settle down. Not so quickly. Personally, I always thought there was something between you and Catherine. But I must have been greatly mistaken. Remember that I'm not that good a detective. Stay away from the gambling. Or she might leave you. Most woman like stability. Don't screw it up, man. Someone deserves to find happiness in this life. Take it while you can._

_Greg, what can be said about you? Although you have changed my life in so many ways, it just doesn't seem to be enough. The feelings won't go away. The voices are always there. Haunting me. Taunting me. It's never going to get better. I'm sorry that I did this to you. _

_I'm sorry for everything. For every single time I fucked up. My life is nothing to be proud of. Not in the least. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I exist. Sorry that I came into your lives._

_And I know that you will try to figure out why I did what I did. You'll never understand. None of you ever will. If you did, I wouldn't be here. Writing this. Forgive me. I'll watch over you. All of you. Stay together. No matter where life takes you. Be a part of each other's lives. Listen and love. _

_Don't cry for me. I'm not worth the tears._

_Love,_

_Nick Stokes_


	2. A Little Murder

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

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Chapter One: A Little Murder**

It's ironic. The stars in the night sky shine like diamonds. Looking down upon all the people that actually find time to sleep in Las Vegas. Those same stars are a beacon of hope to many. Children look to them and make wishes for happier times. Lovers kiss under them. And yet, others use them as a cover to commit crimes. Something so beautiful, something so deadly.

"Nick, stop day dreaming. Grissom is looking for you," Warrick calls.

I take in the night around me. It should be a quiet time. Families should be sleeping. The kids dreaming about video games and summer time. The parents nestled together under the blankets. Instead the night is covered in the glaring blues and reds of emergency lights. Cop cars and an ambulance take away the peace of the little neighborhood. All the lights work together to create their own unique daylight.

My shoes make little noise as I walk across the drying pavement. At least the rain has let up. It seems wrong to me. Processing a murder under little beacons of hope. The already fallen rain suits my mood. Depressing. Little puddles reflect the many colors of this bright night. They just help to bring this harsh reality closer to everyone else. I see families huddled in doorways. Watching with curious eyes. Mothers hug their children close. It could have been us, they think. They won't admit it but it's there, on all their minds. That relief that it happened to someone else. Human nature.

A slightly cool breeze caresses my bare arms. I can still smell the rain. If I listen hard enough I'm sure I will hear the distant thunder. The rain moves on to wash away the dirt of another day. This time, though, in its wake it left a bloody mess. A mess my mind has to concentrate on. I would rather be home, lying in my bed. Gazing out at the coming dawn. I'd be going through the same torture I've been living for the last week. Sleep is hard to find. And when it does come, it is never the release I want.

"Nick, get your head out of the clouds," Grissom snaps.

I set my silver kit at my feet. My mind finally focuses on the crime at hand. People are rushing about like last minute shoppers at Christmas time. I watch as another ambulance pulls up behind the first. The dark gives away the secret of a yet another incoming ambulance. The call replays in my mind. A family of four; three dead and one found alive.

A chill runs down my spine. I know the address on the house. I had been here not too long ago. A mother lived here with her children. Innocent children. Seven-year-old twin boys and a cute-as-a-button three year old girl. I remember coming out here with Brass. It was a call of domestic disturbance. I really shouldn't have been here. That's not my kind of call. It was end of shift and I opted to accompany the officer.

Little did I know that I would be back. Back to find that the little red-haired girl was all that was left. Someone heard the screams earlier in the night as the storm raged on. It was too late though. The souls of three seemingly innocent victims had been lost in the rain. They left behind the cutest little girl. All alone in the world. No mother to come to her when she cried out in the middle of the night. No older brothers to watch out for her or to play with. Alone. I feel so cold inside.

A warm hand touches my shoulder. "You better get to work or Grissom is going to chew you out."

Sara. Her voice brings me back to the work at hand. I can see the hatred and sadness battling in her tired eyes. Cases with kids are always the hardest. They all say that. But how little they know.

I pick my kit back up and follow after Sara like an obedient dog. We pass Warrick, busy interviewing the first officer to respond. Catherine is kneeling over something on the pavement. She doesn't think anyone notices the tear that escapes to run down her cheek. Mostly likely accompanied by a thought of her own daughter. Inside we stroll pass Greg. The smile ever present on his face is lost to the grim task he is performing. Even Sara is quiet. Everyone is trying so hard not to show any emotion. Failure is all that waits at the other side of the bridge.

"You take the kitchen. I'll start in the living room," Sara says.

Usually I don't take orders from her. But tonight, tonight is a different matter. I don't want to fight with anyone. I don't even want to be here, in this cold and desolate house of murder. I nod my head in silent agreement. Sara tilts her head to the side. I know that she's trying to read my mind. Trying to understand what keeps me from talking. None of them know. Only Brass. He's the only one he knows that I've been here. That I spent my time here cheering up the kids while he did his interviewing.

The laugh of a child plays in my mind. A memory from that day. That warm, sunny day just two weeks ago. Two weeks ago seems like so far. So much has happened. So much has fallen apart instead of falling into place. I ignore Sara and her questioning look to make my way to the kitchen. The silence of the house eats away at my nerves. No more happy days. No more laughing children. No mother yelling at them to play nice.

The kitchen is cold. Quiet. I can still see them, all of them. The three children sitting around the table, chattering, waiting. Their mom brings them their lunch. Their sandwiches made with loving hands. The juice poured for just them. A chorus of thanks fill the room. Each little precious child thanks mom for their lunch. The image fades. The kitchen table stands empty and unused. Longing for the touch of children. Even if it meant having sticky juice spilled on it again.

I look away. I can't be here. My mind won't let me concentrate. Deep down, I know that this is where I belong. There isn't anyone else who needs me more this night. No one.

I set my kit on the stark white floor. The floor that still has muddy little boot prints from the kids. They were alive earlier. They got to see one last rainfall before it ended. Before everything ended. I snap photos of the dried muddy prints. Too small to belong to anyone but a child. Heartbreaking. A glass of warm milk sits on the counter waiting for little hands to drink from it. I snap photos of the kitchen door. The one that leads into the backyard. The backyard with the sandbox and jungle-gym. The swings move with the gentle push of the wind. Empty and unused.

I open the only other door in the kitchen. My eyes try to adjust to the dark. The basement. I step back. A slight panic begins in my chest. I close my eyes and listen to my breathing. I'm fine. I don't have to go down there. No one says that I do. I turn my back to the darkness. Still, I can feel it laughing at me, reaching out for me. Trying to make me its captive again.

Then it all happened too quickly. The muddy prints should have made me cautious. Why wasn't I cautious? My foot slips in the puddle. I lose my balance and fall backward. Into the quickly embracing darkness. I fall a few steps before I stop. My heart racing a mile a minute. I see the light of the kitchen, beckoning me with warm hands. Trying to pull me from where I lay.

"Nick?" Greg is calling my name. "Nick, are you okay?"

I try to answer him. I try so hard. But the fear is choking me. The panic is setting in. I don't want to be here. Not again. Not in the dark. I can feel the sweat as it soaks my clothes. Every little detail plays in my mind. The coffin. The confined darkness of being buried alive. The panic begins to rise. Footsteps upstairs, echoing off the kitchen floor. A frantic search for me.

"Nick?" Sara must have heard Greg calling for me.

"Do you think that door leads to the basement?" Greg asks.

"Nick wouldn't go down there. Not with the light out. He could trip and fall," Sara replies.

Look, please, look, I silently plead. Fear keeps me glued to the stairs. The light flicks on, washing away the darkness. Blinding me and covering me in its saving warmth.

"Nick!" Greg descends the stairs.

I'm able to see how lucky I am. I was sitting on a landing half-way through the steps. From here they bent to the side and continued farther into the basement. The basement with the dirt covered floor. Dirt. Underground, darkness, and dirt. I begin to panic again. I feel Greg as he grabs my arm. Whether he moves me with or without my help, I don't know. I just want to be above ground. Far from the darkness.

Once at the top of the stairs I stumble my way out of the house. Pass Sara who holds her breath. Pass Warrick standing by the front door. I stumble out into the night and fall to my knees in the grass. The wet grass. The grass begging for children to play in it. I can hear Catherine and Grissom making their way toward me. I can't keep it in any longer. The nausea wins over. I feel no lose of pride as I empty my stomach. At least I'm above ground. Safe. Safe from the darkness of the dirt.

"What happened?" Grissom asks as he and Catherine draw closer.

"He fell," Greg replies. "He fell into the unlit basement."

Nothing more needs to be said.


	3. Sounds of Silence

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

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Chapter Two: Sounds of Silence**

Back at the lab. The hustle and bustle of trying to solve a case. The noise doesn't bother me. I'm too used to it. I can block it out. Turn it into background noise. I build a wall around myself, blocking everything out. A wall of solid steel. Block out the world. The memories of earlier. Being trapped in the basement with the dirt floor. In the dark. The panic begins to creep into my chest again. Squeaky shows break through my barrier and chase away the memories. The panic flees with them. I sigh.

"You look a little tired, Nicky," Warrick says placing a hand on my shoulder.

"Thanks, Warrick," I reply dryly.

If only he knew. I am at a place beyond tired. The dreams of my sleep haunt me during the day. My nightmares refuse to stay in the night where they belong. Instead they follow me around on little wings and disrupt my every thought, my every move. What I won't give for a night of peace and quiet. A night of nothing but uninterrupted sleep. Lying in the dark. Quiet…

"Nick? Are you okay?"

Grissom forces the darkness to recede. I look to my side. Warrick is gone. I don't remember him departing though. Grissom now stands in his place and his face is filled with worry. Somewhere deep inside I feel like laughing. How can Grissom get off asking me if I'm okay? He's never been okay. Not in my eyes. He ignores falling in love with Sara so that he can spend more time with his damn bugs. If that's what it means to be "okay", than count me out.

"I'm fine," I answer. "Why do you ask?"

"You look a little pale, and you did lose your lunch all over the front yard of our crime scene," he remarks.

Never let me forget it. Put yourself in my shoes Gil. How would you have dealt with being buried alive? Would you relish it? Would you be able to return to life as though it never happened? I avoid looking into his eyes. Facing Grissom is hard for me now. Every single time I look at him I think about his passion for bugs. Thinking of bugs leads me right back down into my grave. All those ants. I shudder.

"I'm sorry, Grissom. I really am," I apologize.

"Nick, I'm not worried about the crime scene and any evidence that may have been disrupted. I'm only worried about you. I need to know if you are sincerely okay."

I blink a few times. Did I hear him right? Grissom is not worried about evidence? I look at him long and hard. He appears normal. The same ole Griss. "Yes, I'm fine. Maybe just a little tired."

"It's been a long night, why don't you go home? Your shift is almost up anyway."

"Thanks, Griss, but I think I can wait until shift is over."

He shrugs and studies me again before moving on to wherever. I turn my back on him to head in the opposite direction. My arms are folded across my chest. People pass by me as though I'm not even here. That's fine with me. Sometimes it's better to not be seen. I don't think I can handle another person asking me about my mental health. Just the thought of it makes me want to pull out my hair. A glance at my watch gives 'way the secret of time. Another hour and work will be over. I'll be able to go home and lay in bed like a sleepless zombie.

"Nick, I have something for you," Greg says as he slaps me on the back. It takes all the energy left inside of me not to jump out of my skin.

I turn to look at the bed-head young man. Greg had been more fun and more frat-boyish as the lab technician. Since falling into the field his attitude has mellowed. A person can only take so many dead bodies until it begins to affect the mind. There are still those days, rare as they may be, that he acts like his former self. That's the part of Greg I always liked. The part of him that I miss.

"Really? What is it?" I ask. Curiosity always gets the best of me.

He waves a Playstation 2 game in front of my face. "I finally got my hands on Tekken 5. Want to play later today? I'll kick your butt."

Despite my mood I actually laugh. "Greg, you could never kick my ass. I'll see you around noon. And by the time work roles around again, I'll own you."

He grins from ear to ear. "Only in your dreams, Nicky."

I smile and shake my head. Greg quickly disappears into the locker room as Grissom rounds the corner. Beside him is Catherine. They walk step for step discussing something written on a piece of paper. Sara looks up from the lab table where she sits. I can see the pain in her eyes. The longing for Grissom to notice her. Maybe I'll sit down with her and have a chat. She needs to find a way to let him go. He'll never look at her that way. If almost losing me didn't make him look at life differently, nothing ever will.

At the end of the hallway Brass is trying to push away press members. How did they gain access to the lab? Back-up quickly swarms around the journalists to force them out the exit. Greedy bastards. They force themselves into everything. Brass looks my way. I catch the look in his eyes, even from the distance. He's deeply troubled. I know that feeling. The feeling of emptiness. A feeling that you could have prevented the out come of the murder. Neither one of us could have known though.

I look at my watch again. Only tens minutes has passed. I look back over my shoulder. Everyone is busy being part of this world and its life. I feel as though I am nothing more than an intruder. Turning to the locker room I grab my jacket and decide to take Grissom's offer. I'm leaving early. No one will notice that I've disappeared. Anyway, I need the extra time to get to sleep. Greg is expecting me to play games with him before work. The thought makes me smile softly as I walk to my car.

On the drive home I keep the radio off. I'm not in the mood to listen to music about love or murder, depending on the genre. Never will I listen to the news stations. They just remind me of the horrors in this world. Horrors that I face every day of my life. A part of me wishes to return home and to locate a new job. But going home holds just as much pain for me. The memories there aren't any better.

My place is dark even though the sun is breaking over the horizon. I flick on the lights. The thought of being incased in a silent tomb of darkness sets my nerves on edge. I leave the lights on as I make my way to my bedroom. A glance toward the bathroom. I shake my head. I'll shower when I get up. I just want to hit the bed and try to sleep. Maybe some night I'll sleep deep enough that the dreams won't be able to seep in. Like a robot I disrobe and throw the clothes near the hamper. At some point I think I should do my laundry.

With a heavy heart I climb under the covers. The lights in the other rooms pour into my bedroom, keeping it from being dark. I close my eyes in the attempt of sleeping. My body relaxes but my mind keeps running at full throttle. Another night of pain. Another day without comfort.


	4. High and Low

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

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Chapter Three: High and Low**

The ceiling returns my glare with its silent white. I've been lying in bed for hours now. My mind tired. I slept for a little while. Long enough to recharge my bodily batteries. I have no desire to sleep anymore. I got out without any graphic nightmares. A glance at my alarm clock pulls me from my bed. Greg will be here soon and I still need to shower. One last glare at the silently laughing ceiling before I roll out of bed.

The water in the shower wakes the muscles in my aching body. It washes the nightmares from my soul; but only for a few hours. They always return. I let the steaming water surround me, draping me in the damp moisture it creates. Eventually it begins to turn my skin a slight lobster red. I shut it off and climb out. The mirror is foggy. In a childish gesture I write my name in the fog with my finger. Then I wipe it away. Like I wish I could wipe my mind clean. I wrap a towel around my waist, tying it in place.

The knock at the door echoes in my ears. Greg is here. I leave the bathroom to answer the door. It's exactly noon. Leave it up to Greg to be right on time. I open the door.

He looks a bit miffed. "What took you so long to answer the door?"

I look down at myself. "I was kind of taking a shower."

"So I see," he replies. His voice sounds a bit strange to me. Maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. He holds up a pizza. "I brought breakfast." His grin is enough to light up the night sky.

Stepping aside, he sweeps into the place. "Just make yourself comfortable. I'll finish getting dressed."

"Alright," he mumbles.

I leave him to whatever task he picks up. He's been here a few times and knows his way around. As I dress I hear him fussing with something in the kitchen. Probably getting the sodas ready. Today will just be another day in a long line of video gaming with Greg. He may have graduated early and at the top of his class but he could still be so childish.

"What the hell are you doing with this, Nick?" He calls.

"Doing with what?" I call back as I pull on my shirt and head for the living room.

I hear him fiddling with something and in another second the house is filled with an Irish jig. I roll my eyes. He needs to turn the sound down or my neighbors will complain and I have no desire to see them. I open the bedroom door. The sight before me causes me to burst out laughing. Greg is doing his best attempt at dancing an Irish jig. Personally, it looks likes he's having a seizure.

He stops at the sound of my laughing, a goofy grin on his face. "Never the kind of music I expected to find in your place."

"My mom sent it to me. She figured it would help me relax."

"Sure," he says in a manner that tells me he doesn't believe me. He turns it off, flops onto the couch, and grabs up a piece of greasy pizza.

"Pizza-eating Irish man by day, serious CSI by night," I joke as I join him on the couch.

"Dude, do you think I should wear a cape with big Celtic knot on it? I could be Knotty Man." His voice is mockingly dramatic.

I start laughing. "Only if you wear green tights and a top hat. You could be Leprechaun Boy."

He frowns. "Leprechauns are small. I'm not short, Nicky. Plus, I'd have to drink beer and that stuff tastes nasty." He sips his soda with a matter-of-fact attitude.

I smile. "Thank you, man. I haven't felt this happy in some time. I really needed this."

A worried look is thrown my way. "Something been troubling you?'

The dark clouds are coming back. I shake my head. "Let's not talk about it. Let's just have some fun. Where's that video game?"

"Nick-"

I throw a glance his way. "Don't you dare ask me if I'm okay. I am so tired of hearing that word."

Greg nods. "Tell me about it. That's all I heard when the lab blew up. Does it make you want to pull your hair out?"

I nod. "Does it ever go away?"

"What?" He takes another slice of pizza.

"The questions?"

"Nick, what you went through, it must have been hell. They're friends and they just want to make sure you're happy. Is that so bad?" He asks.

"No, it's not. Can't they just leave it alone?" I start up the game console.

"Would you rather they ignored you and acted like it never happened?"

"You really want to know?" He nods. "Yes, I do. Every damn time they ask me it just brings the memories back. How can I be okay if they won't let me forget about it?"

He puts his slice of pizza back in the box and wipes his hands on a towel. "You've got a very good point there. Perhaps you should tell them not to ask. But than they'll worry about you more." He frowns. "I really have no idea how to help you on this. I wish I could."

I shrug it off. "It's okay. It's not your problem. Let's just play some Tekken 5 so that I can whip your butt."

"Ha," he snorted. The fire of life returned to his eyes, burning away the seriousness of our conversation.

The hours pass. Slowly, slice by slice, the pizza disappears. The sun draws closer to the horizon and the time for work creeps up on us. We've tied the game, one last match to tell us who is the best. Greg pauses the game just as the match begins. He turns to me, a questioning look in his eyes.

"Has anyone thought to give you time off from work? Like a leave of absence maybe?"

I raise an eyebrow. "No, why?"

A shrug. "Just seems as though it should have been offered."

I scoff. "That means Ecklie would have to talk to me. No thanks. I don't need to deal with him. I'd rather kiss a guy."

Greg's eyes grow big. "You hate him that much?"

I blush slightly. "Doesn't everyone hate Ecklie? He's a slime-ball."

Greg has a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Suddenly, I feel as though I should distance myself from him. I pick up the cups and mumble something about refills. Work begins in just an hour and twenty minutes. We'll most likely carpool. I pour more soda into the empty cups. Taking my time. Greg sits quietly and patiently until I return. Some thought is working the gears in his head. I can read it in his eyes. I place the now fill glasses on the table. He looks at me. A realization having dawned on him.

"Greg?"

I study him. He draws a bit closer to me. I blink and his lips are touching mine slightly. The surprise causes me to drop the game control on the floor. Greg jumps at the sound. He pulls away. Our eyes meet and we stare at each other. No words are exchanged. What can be said? Boldly, Greg moves in for another attempt. Our lips meet again. To my own surprise I return the kiss. It deepens a little, pulling us over the line. The clock chimes the hour and Greg pulls away slightly.

"How was that?" He asks a little breathless.

I smile softly. "Magically delicious."


	5. Unfriendly Skies

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

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Chapter Four: Unfriendly Skies**

I sit on the old hard wooden bench in the locker room. The rows of lockers remind me of the steel wall I try to keep wrapped around myself. At least the lockers keep out the sounds of the other rooms. The steel walls of my mind can't even keep the panic locked out. Warrick walks into the room muttering under his breath about a court appearance.

"Evening, Nick. Did the day treat you well?" He asks. I know that he's going to say the words before he actually does. He says them to me every night. Ever since…

I cover up the truth. Warrick doesn't need to know about Gregg kissing me. "Great, always great. Got to go to court tonight?"

He shakes his head. "No, tomorrow morning, at nine." I give him a look of disbelief while placing a few things in my locker. "Grissom gave me the night off so that I could be refreshed. I'd rather not go."

I close my locker. The door shutting echoes a little louder than I expect. Warrick raises an eyebrow at my obvious frustration. I choose to ignore his inquiring mind. "That guy still fighting you over the evidence?"

He doesn't reply right away. I think he's waiting for me to say something, to show a sign that something is really bothering me. When the sign doesn't come, he answers me. "You bet. This guy has become a really thorn in my side. I'm thinking of filling harassment papers."

"You should, that would make him leave you alone. How can the guy even afford a lawyer? Every time I see him he looks like a bum fresh off the street."

"His brother is his lawyer. He's doing it as a favor, I guess," Warrick replies.

We walk side by side out of the locker room. Sara is looking frantically into rooms, an unreadable expression on her face. She slams the door to the Gun Lab with a force full of anger and frustration. Wearily, her body relaxed with defeat, she turns in our direction. The spark flashes back in her eyes and her body goes rigid.

"I've been looking for you two, where have you been?" She asks impatiently.

"In the locker room. What's going on?" Warrick asks.

"A small plane went down in the desert. The police are saying that all six passengers and crew aboard are dead. Grissom says it's the only crime scene we have tonight. He wants all hands on deck," she explains.

Warrick shakes his head. "Sorry, Sara, I can't tonight. I have court tomorrow morning."

"I know that I gave you the night off, Warrick," Grissom states as he walks up on our other side. "But I really need you there tonight. I'll make a few calls and see if I can get the time of your court appearance moved to later in the day."

Warrick shrugs his shoulders and smiles broadly. "Well, when you're needed, you're needed."

By now Catherine and Greg have wandered up. I gaze toward Greg to see if I can read his mind. His face is blank as he listens to Grissom ramble on about the crime scene. Never once does he look in my direction. Anyone would find it hard to believe that we kissed earlier in the day. Even I am finding it hard to believe.

"Catherine, Sara, you'll ride with me. Warrick, Nick, and Greg, you take the second vehicle," Grissom says.

Greg flinches, his eyes grow wide. "Griss, I was kind of hoping I could ride with you. There are few questions I was hoping to ask you. About the crime scene. I've never been to the sight of a plane crash before."

Grissom gives him a small nod. "Alright than, Greg, you can ride with Catherine and I. Sara, you go with Warrick and Nick. I'm sorry, Greg. I sometimes forget that you are relatively new to field work."

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The ride to the crash site is a quiet one. For me, anyway. Sara and Warrick sit up front talking about this and that. I pay them no attention. My insides feel cold and numb. As we left the lab I caught a glimpse of a cute little red-haired girl. An elderly woman had been sitting next to her. My body is in the car heading toward a plane crash while my mind is stuck in the lab thinking of that sweet innocent child. She deserved the team, at least one of us. Now her family is left in the dark mocking background. I close my eyes and rest my head against the glass.

The night is cool and as silent as a funeral. No clouds hang over head to cover up the stars. No storm waits on the horizon to drown us in its misery. All that's out here is the desert sand with its cacti guards. The darkness envelopes us as Warrick follows the other Tahoe. Something in the world outside shifts and I open my eyes. The horizon is lit like Las Vegas itself. The unmistakable orange flair of fire dances in the sky. As we draw nearer I can see the many tiny blue and red lights dancing to their own individual beats.

"Holy shit," Sara breathes.

The fire burns high into the sky releasing its smoky breath. Firefighters challenge the raging beast on the ground. The force of the water drives the fire back, away from the plane. I squint to cut out the glare of all the lights. There are two rows of firefighters. One row fights the evil fire. The other is washing away the jet fuel on the ground. Break the line of gas; break the connection with the plane.

Ambulances with lights off sit on the edge of all the excitement. All the passengers are dead. No one survived. I finally rest my eyes on the mangled heap of metal that was once a plane. Of course no one survived the crash. You can hardly tell that it's even a plane. What is left of the crash is half submerged in a natural rock wall. So it seems. The nose of the plane is probably crumpled like a tender piece of paper. We disembark from the Tahoe and join the others. All eyes are fixed on the fire.

"How come the Feds aren't covering this?" Sara enquires.

Grissom glances momentarily in her direction. "We have to find evidence of the tampering before the Feds will take over. Otherwise, it's just a downed plane and our crime scene."

The night is made hot by the roaring blaze. My shirt and vest are almost too much. I feel the uncomfortable and unwelcome panic flutter in my chest. The heat reminds me of the confines of my coffin. I place my silver kit on the ground and close my eyes. I try to force the panic away. Instead I start hyperventilating. My mind flashes back to the enclosure fit to my size. Made of some sort of plastic substance I was able to see all the dirt shoved on top of me. The annoying light that turned off the cooling fan with the oxygen.

"Nick, you okay man?"

The panic falters as Warrick brushes a hand over my shoulder. My mind returns to the here and now, leaving the coffin with its army of ants laughing at me in the distance. The heat causes a sweaty blanket to cover my entire body. Work tonight is going to be tiresome.

"Nick, this scene isn't going to process itself," Grissom yells with anger spicing his voice.

I pick up my kit and continue to follow them to the scene. Bystanders are starting to cumulate. Even out in the middle of nowhere. With the roaring of the fire and the shouting of the firefighters we all settle in to process the scene at hand.


	6. Friends & Lovers

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**Author Note:** This may be my last update of this story. Unless you guys like it.

**POV**: Nick

**

* * *

Chapter Five: Friends & Lovers **

I stand outside Greg's apartment. Outside the day is already set in motion. Why am I here staring at a brown door? I lean back against the wall. The plane crash is probably all cleaned up now. There wasn't a single sign of foul play. The engine seems to have malfunctioned. Nothing more. Sure, there are more tests to be done and I'm more than assured that Grissom will not go home to sleep today. That means that he'll be a pain in the ass during tonight's shift. None of that bothers me. It's how my life runs.

What bothers me is Greg. All night he avoided and ignored me. How can he do that? After he kissed me? Maybe the question I should be asking myself is why do I care? It's Greg. Nobody really understands him. I chew my bottom lip as I muse over this, staring at his door. He's not going to answer the door unless I knock. Last time I checked, Greg wasn't psychic. Tentatively, I rap my knuckles on his door. Part of me feels like fleeing before he opens the door. I don't get the chance to think it over for Greg opens the door before I'm even done knocking.

"Nick?" He stands aside to let me in. "I though you were the Chinese food that I ordered."

"Don't you ever cook?" I ask.

"Eh, why cook when someone else can do it for you? Plus, cooking always makes a big mess and I spend all night cleaning up other people's messes," he explains. The logic does make sense. Leave it up to Greg to connect eating habits to work.

I stand in his living room, my eyes not focusing on anything. He closes the door behind me. I feel his eyes on my back. Why am I here? Does finding out what lies in Greg's heart and soul really that important to me? He only kissed me because I made that stupid comment. How was I to know that it would open up feelings inside of me that I never knew were there?

"Nicky?"

I turn back to him. It's now or never. Just do it. "Why did you ignore me all shift?"

He raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"You kept yourself as far away from me as possible during shift. Instead of riding with Warrick and me you duck out to ride with Grissom. Never once did you talk to me at the scene or at the lab. I swear, every time you saw me coming you averted your original course. What gives, Sanders?" I say in one breath.

He looks down at the floor. Refusing to answer me. This sets fire to the anger inside me. I go from feeling upset to being angered with him.

"You know what? Forget it. I'll see you at work tonight. Maybe." My voice has a hint of venom in it.

I go to step around him when he grabs onto my arm. "You want an explanation?" His brown eyes fix on mine. "I don't have one. All I know is that I kissed you yesterday. Doesn't that seem the slightest bit weird to you? We're not supposed to be kissing each other. You should be chasing after Sara, not me." I don't suppress the shock of him mentioning Sara. She's only interested in Grissom.

"Greg-"

"I shouldn't want to do this but I do." He pulls me to him by snagging the waist of my jeans.

Our lips meet again. I was not aware what deep fiery passion the touch of lips, the delving of tongues, could bring. All the feelings inside me build and grow. I feel an aching deep in the pit of my stomach. An aching for him. The kiss of yesterday was a mere appetizer. I want the main course and than some. Our lips part briefly. The sound of Greg being short of breath turns me on even more. This shouldn't be. Maybe he's right. I should be chasing after Sara. I want Greg and only Greg. There is no fooling myself. He appears to draw the same conclusion as our lips find each other for yet another passionate kiss.

Who knows how we get to the bedroom. Love carried us here on a cloud. I don't really care. All I know is that I'm feeling all hot and bothered. The bed is pressing against the back of my legs. I came here to seek the answer to a question. Now I'm getting a little afternoon delight. With quick and skilled hands we're both naked in a matter of minutes. Our hands freely explore each others bodies. We tumble onto the bed wrapped up in one another.

* * *

I lay on my bare stomach in Greg's bed. He has half his upper body draped across my back. Both of us are sweaty and coming down from our high. He kisses my back sending a shiver down my spine. The room is filled with the silence of contemplation. I glance toward his alarm clock. Another hour and half before work starts. Every muscle in my body tenses up. 

"Something wrong, Nicky?" Greg asks softly. It seems like a crime to break the silence.

"We have to leave for work eventually," I mutter.

"So?" He sounds like his old frat-boy self.

"Don't you understand, Greg?" I shift my position so that I'm lying on my back. Greg makes himself comfortable by resting on me again.

"Understand what?" He asks acting all innocent. His fingers trace along my stomach. "You have such great abs."

"Don't get sidetracked," I say. "We crossed the line between friends and lovers today. You see absolutely no problem with that?"

His eyes lock on mine. "Should I?"

His fingers continue their gentle pattern. I feel myself getting aroused. It's hard to keep my mind on the seriousness of the conversation. "Stop it, Sanders."

"Stop what?" A mischievous look flashes across his face.

"Stop that," I moan as his hand travels a little farther down. "Greg, we have to get ready for work." It's amazing the amount of pleasure one hand can create.

"I know," Greg replies. "But we still have over an hour to waste…"

* * *

I part from Greg a half hour before shift is to start. Hopefully that's more than enough time for me to get home, shower, and change. I haven't slept at all today. Will anyone notice at work? I take care of all the necessities at my house and finish with ten minutes to get to work. I'm going to end up being late. Perhaps Grissom will be too tired to notice. Luck is on my side. The light traffic gets me to work a minute after shift starts. No one comes to yell at me for being late. In fact, the place is oddly quiet. 

I head for the abandoned locker room. With a chill I imagine tumbleweed dancing across the benches. The lab is too quiet for my comfort. I open my steel closet to fish out a few work supplies. The extra pair of clothes inside questions me. Will I need them tonight? I close the door with a silent click. I flop on the bench, the events of the day rushing back to me. All I wanted was an answer. In a way, I guess I got it.

Warrick walks through the door. "Evening, Nicky, how are you?"

"Better than I have been, I think," I mutter.

He looks me up and down. Then he chuckles. "Nicky, boy, you been holding out on me. I thought you were tired because you weren't sleeping well. Tell me, who's the girl?"

I look up at him completely puzzled by what he says. ""What?"

"You got that look. You've spent the day with someone. Come on, tell me who." He sits beside me on the bench, eagerly awaiting all the details. I feel like a high school student all over again.

"I-"

Before I can say anything the door opens again and in walks Greg. Warrick greets him with a big smile. "Get good news or something, Warrick? You look like the cat that ate the canary."

I smile at Greg. He smiles back and sends a little wave my way. Of course, he wants to make Warrick think we haven't seen each other since last night. There are many things for the two of us to talk about. And the lab is not the place to do it. Especially not in front of Warrick.

"Our buddy got himself laid today. I can tell. He won't tell me who the chick is though," Warrick explains.

"Is that so? Why you holding out, Nicky?" Greg goes along.

I sigh. Warrick won't let me alone unless I tell him. But I refuse to tell him about Greg. I can read the fear all over Greg's face. He doesn't want to be ousted yet either. "It's no one you know, Brown, so forget about it."

He shakes his head and bends down to put on the boots he wears for work. Greg winks at me before vanishing through the door. How much longer can we go one deceiving people that are supposed to be our friends? And when will it finally hit the fan?


	7. Identity Crisis

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

**

* * *

Chapter Six: Identity Crisis**

I sift through the paperwork in my hands. All tests done on the downed airplane. Grissom stayed all day to work on them. Talk about dedication to your job. Or serious lack of a life. Sara would be great for him, if he would just open his eyes and look at her for once. Unfortunately, Griss always has his head in work. I bet that when he's not working, he's thinking about work or studying something that will be helpful for work.

I hold all the paperwork in one hand while rubbing the back of my neck with the other one. A chill makes the hairs on my neck stand up. A nervous gaze around the immediate vicinity reveals no reason for the eerie feeling. I shake my head; mad at myself for thinking something is wrong. Grissom wants all the tests handed over to Ecklie. I'm not happy about being his errand boy. No one likes talking to Ecklie. Least of all me. Partly because I blame him for my abduction. He's the one that switched the teams all around. Under Grissom's supervision the whole event would never have happened. It really got to me that the cop at the scene had not been reprimanded in any way. He had not been doing his job. He was there to watch out for the CSI's.

"Evening, Nick, you look a little flushed. You feeling okay?"

I fight back the urge to yell at Catherine. I am so tired of hearing that damn word. That whole phrase. "Feeling fine but dreading the fact that I have to see Ecklie."

She frowns. "Why are you going to see him? I thought you tried to avoid him."

I smile. "I do. Grissom sent out as his errand boy. Something important in the tests for that airplane."

Catherine slips the small packet of papers from my hand and gives me a reassuring smile. The trouble that clouds her eyes confuses me. "I'll take care of it. I don't understand why Grissom would send you on task like this. After…"

I let her drop it. I don't want to hear about it anymore. I'm well aware of what happened to me. She mumbles an almost silent goodbye before taking off for Ecklie's office. I close my eyes and lean against the wall. The hours in that coffin changed my life in so many ways. Ever since then I have avoided Ecklie. I can't bear to step into Grissom's office with all those bugs. Being in the dark gave me the chills. Being underground sent the panic into complete overdrive. And I find myself a little claustrophobic.

With a mind full of heavy thoughts I make my way to the break-room. My mouth is dry and I'm thirsting like never before. The TV in the corner is on, turned to a news channel like always. What easier way would there be to see if someone leaks valuable information? I pluck a bottle of water from the small fridge; the coolness of it on my skin is refreshing. All of a sudden I feel too hot. Too uncomfortable. Like being in that damned box. I stumble into one of the chairs.

The voice of the female news anchor breaks through my troubling thoughts. I glance at the TV. She's talking about the family of the little red-haired girl. The little girl who now has to live in foster care because her grandparents are not healthy enough to take care of her. No one claimed her. No one wanted her. I know all too well how it feels to be alone in the world. There's a lot of time spent thinking when one is locked-up under six feet of earth.

I leave the bottle on the table as I make a quick escape from the room. I don't want to be reminded of that poor girl. How she must be suffering. Does she even fully understand what happened? Does she cry out at night for her mom? Does she miss playing with her brothers in the sunshine? I cross my arms over my chest in an attempt to block out the ache that is being to grow. Why does this case bother me so much? Why can't I think straight? Am I finally losing my mind?

Greg, I need to talk to Greg. My feet redirect me toward the lab. He may not be the lab technician anymore but he's comfortable in his old territory. I'm likely to find him there. I near the corner of the hallway. A female laugh floats across the air, caressing the ears that hear it. A beautiful laugh. I round the corner and stop dead in my tracks. There is Greg. He's talking with the new technician. No, not talking, it looks like he's flirting with her. He's holding her hand, palm up, while tracing the fingers of his other hand over the sensitive skin of her palm. They look at each other. He says something. She laughs.

I feel like someone has dumped a barrel of ice water over me. I shiver and turn on my heel. The little ache inside grows into a yawning emptiness. How can he be flirting with a girl after this afternoon? Did it mean nothing to him? I don't even know what it means to me. I feel betrayed. I feel like the whole world is laughing at me. Another mistake. Another painful memory to add to the ever growing library in my mind.

I return to the locker-room. The silence wraps a comforting blanket around me. No one is here. No one can see me. No one can hear me. The feelings all finally boil together. I feel frustrated. Angry. Upset. The urge to punch something. In a cry of anguish I slam my fist into the metal of the lockers. The pain of my bloody knuckles feels heavenly. I watch the miniscule pools of blood with fascination.

Pain clears the mind. Releases all the pent up feelings inside. I like it. A glance over my shoulder proves that no one heard me. No one is running to check-up on me. No surprise there. On silent footsteps I walk to my locker. I open the door and root around in the dark interior. My hand falls on the coolness of the blade inside. I withdraw the knife. The knife that I carried with me for two days after being unburied. I run my finger along the blade. Still sharp. Another glance to the door. It stands silently, unmoving.

The blade presses against my flesh. It feels right. I put a little more pressure into it. The skin underneath breaks allowing the river of red to begin flowing. A thump against a wall startles me. I drop the knife, expecting to see someone by the door, watching me. There's no one there. I'm all alone. Always alone. My eyes catch the angry red streak on my arm. It's already drying. Not a deep cut. I pick the knife up off the floor and place it back in my locker. The door closes with a laughing hiss.

My arm burns slightly from the cut. Why have I cut myself? Why do I cause myself more pain? Does Greg mean that much to me? I turn my back to the lockers, leaning against them. When did my life start spiraling out of control? What did I do to piss off the universe? In frustration I bang my head lightly on the lockers. This is wrong. Why can't I be the me that I once was? The tough Nicky? The Nicky everyone joked around with? I hate being the Nicky that everyone walks on eggshells around for fear of upsetting me. I slide down the lockers, my head in my hands. The tears flow freely from my eyes. I don't feel right. I don't feel like me. I don't even know who I am anymore.


	8. Who Are You?

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

**Chapter Seven: Who Are You?**

Back home in the silence. I recline on my couch. The day having taken a lot out of me. My eyes are closed. My shoes are off, my socks on. I wait for the grip of sleep to take over. The nightmares will be waiting to torment me again. Right now, I don't care. I just want to release myself from the world. Let the hours fly by while I'm lost in something resembling sleep. I feel myself drifting off in the arms of the Sandman.

A knock at my door scares the silence away. Not expecting it I'm not surprised that I fall off the couch. I smack my elbow on the coffee table. Note to self, never try sleeping on the couch again. Rubbing the painful spot I cross the room to answer the door. Sara gives me a bright smile, holding up a white bag and one of those fast food drink holders with two coffees.

"Well, this is a surprise," I remark.

"Thought you would like some company. You looked lost when you left the lab two hours ago," she explains. "Maybe there's something you want to talk about."

A few things come to mind. Catherine's lack of sense to spend time with her daughter. Her own desire to be noticed by Grissom. Everything about Greg. "Sure, why the hell not, every needs to talk now and again."

Her smile is almost enough to lift my spirits. Almost. I know the smile that I want to see. The person that I want to bring me coffee. I shake my head. I can't let the thoughts rule my world. A friend is here to help. If only she knew everything that is hidden away inside of me. With a halfhearted glance outside I close the door. Sara is perched on the sofa. Studying me.

"What?" I ask.

"Your knuckles are bloodied. When did that happen?"

I shrug. "Oh, I'm not sure. Probably at the airplane scene. There was a lot of commotion and metal. Anything could have caused it," I lie.

"Very true. What about the cut on your arm?" She asks as she sips her coffee.

"Do you know how you get every little cut and bruise? We're investigators. I don't know when I picked it up."

She frowns. "You're lying to me. There's something you're keeping from me and that hurts."

I sit on the couch beside her. "We've never exactly been the best of friends, Sara."

A few seconds pass before she answers me. "I always thought we were friends, Nick." Her voice is soft with a hint of sadness.

I bit my lip. She goes out of her way to bring me coffee and donuts. Here I am, being an ass. I could just tell her what happened. Would that be fair to Greg, though? Shouldn't he have a say in who knows about…? The look he gave me in the locker room flashes in my mind. Followed by him flirting with the new lab tech. If he wants to move on, so be it.

"Alright," I sigh. "There is something I'm not telling you. Mainly because I haven't told anyone else. The reactions they would have are a worry to me. And I don't know how I feel about things myself."

Her hand is warm on my knee. "It's okay, Nicky. I'm here to listen. That's what friends do."

"I…I slept with someone from the lab." The words just rush out of my like hot air out of a balloon. I look at Sara.

She shrugs. "So, what's so problematic with that? Grissom has this whole thing against office romance but it happens. I wouldn't worry about this too much." In a Sara kind of way she pulls her sugar donut apart, leaving little white crumbs all over her napkin.

"It was Greg."

The donut falls on the napkin in pieces. Slowly she turns her gaze back to me. "You slept with Greg?" Her voice sounds hollow.

"Yes," I almost whisper.

She shakes her head. "No. No, no, no. You can't."

"What?" Where does she get the right to tell me what I can and can not do?

The reaction of the news in her eyes bothers me. I wish I could take the words back. Why did I tell her? Maybe I should forget about the whole incident. I never slept with Greg. That day doesn't exist. I lay my head against the back of the couch with my eyes closed. If that day never happened then why do I want him so much right now?

I feel the caress of Sara's hand on my thigh. "I didn't mean it like that, Nicky. You can sleep with whoever you want. But this worries me."

"Worries you?"

"If Ecklie finds out you'll lose your job." Her hand hasn't stopped it's soothing motion. It's beginning to make me uncomfortable. For some reason I feel like I'm cheating on Greg.

"He can't fire me because I slept with Greg twice. It hasn't affected my work. And it won't be happening again." The last sentence cuts through the air like a sharp knife.

Her hand stops. "What are you talking about?"

I give her a recount of my day. Leaving out the breakdown that I had in the locker room. She polishes off her donut while thinking over the words. Without saying a word she picks up her mess and readies to leave. She stops by the door and studies me, sitting on the couch.

"Nick, you need to talk to Greg about this. I can't really help. You have my deepest promise that I won't tell anyone, not even Greg, the things that you've told me. Talk with him," she opens the door. "Oh, and Nicky, you are going to be at the party tomorrow, aren't you? I think it will do you some good to go."

I nod. "Sure, I'll be there."

She wishes me a sweet goodbye and leaves. I must admit that I feel more confused than before. Talking with Sara hasn't really helped me any. However, having her here, touching me has reconfirmed that somewhere deep inside of me I only want Greg. I toy with the idea of calling him. I'll see him tonight at work and there's the party. That retirement party for one of the other lab techs. Maybe I won't go to work. Or the party. Maybe I'll just stay home and sleep away the daylight hours. Waste away the night.

A soft knock on the door breaks the silence. "Come in," I call. Why get up?

Greg opens the door. "Nicky," he smiles. "We need to talk."

Funny, didn't Sara and I do that? We did and it hasn't helped. I fight the urge to tell him to get lost. I don't want to see him anymore. Yet, at the same time, I want to have him near. I want to touch him.

"Okay, let's talk."

XO

I wake two hours before needing to go to work. The sun is slowly creeping its way toward the horizon. My stomach growls with the need for nourishment. I roll over onto my back and I'm promptly greeted by the starkly bare ceiling.

"It's about time you got up," Greg says. He walks out of the bathroom dressed in only his boxers and sits on the bed.

"I was up earlier," I mumble.

Greg actually giggles. "You know that's not what I meant. There's only two hours until work. Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

I look at him. "I could say the same to you."

"Ah, you know you like me dressed this way." His smiles grow larger.

I can't help but smile back. "A lot can happen in two hours."

I pull him close to me. The kiss we share is passionate, hot, and filled with desire. I do my best to chase away the thoughts in my mind. Why am I doing this with Greg? Was I not mad at him earlier for flirting with someone else? Why haven't we talked about it? As things heat up between us again I feel confusion banging as its cage, ready to be let out. Why do I feel lost wrapped in the arms of Greg?


	9. Inside The Box

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

**

* * *

Chapter Eight: Inside the Box**

"Nick, I need you to take this evidence to the locker in the basement," Grissom says.

I look at the older man who is dressed in all black. Again. I wonder if maybe he suffers from depression. He hands me a box with red tape sealing it closed. My eyes glance at the case number. It sends shivers down my spine.

"I was not aware that this case was solved," I remark.

Grissom raises an eyebrow. "The father confessed to everything. Day shift ran through the evidence and found that it fit his story. He'll be in jail for a long time. If we're lucky, he'll get a life sentence." He passes a small brown evidence bag from his left hand to his right. A bag that I had not noticed at first.

"Would you like me to take that to the evidence locker too?" I ask.

An unreadable emotion flashes across his face. "No, that's alright. I'm actually on my way to give it to Catherine. Something for a case she's working on."

"Oh, well see you at the party," I comment.

"Perhaps. It is a slow night. A party might be nice. However, I have other things to attend to first."

As he goes to walk by I catch a glimpse of the bag in his hand. The case number fills me with a cold embrace.

"Grissom, what is that? Why are you hiding things from me that involve my abduction?" I ask. The venom in my voice is masked by the despair.

Grissom turns to look at me. "It's nothing important, Nicky. Just the original contact that let us know what was going on."

"Why are you giving it to Catherine? You said that it was evidence for a case she's working on. Are there new leads in my case?"

He shakes his head. "To be honest, Nick, I lied. I didn't want you to know about this. I didn't want to bring back memories. Catherine was going to bring it to the locker."

The anger erupts from me before I can stop it. "I don't need to be treated like a little kid, Grissom. I wish all of you would stop treating me like a fragile piece of glass that will shatter with the slightest bump. I'm human. I learn to cope. Just ask Greg." I shove the box back into Grissom's arms. "Take your own evidence to the locker."

I storm off before he can even open his mouth. I don't want to see him or anyone else. Not at the present moment. Anger carries me to the quiet garage. A pick-up truck sits inside, waiting to be processed or towed away to impound. Along one of the walls is a rather large, coffin-sized, metal container. It looks sort of a like a sarcophagi. The lid is wide open. Curious as to what it is I walk over to take a look. The inside is empty expect for a trace of fingerprint powder. Bloody fingerprints decorate the outside edge. I shudder and turn my back on it.

The fact that I mentioned Greg to Grissom gnaws at my mind. If he does seek out Greg for information what will Greg tell him? Will he tell him everything that we've done together? The way I phrased things bites into my skin. I made it sound like I am using Greg. Am I? I cross my arms over my chest with a shiver. There's a party with my friends. They're probably waiting for me. Wondering where I am. I close my eyes. Take a deep breath and let it out. My muscles begin to relax. The anger trickles away.

Strong hands reach out of the quiet and push me. Force me backward. I step back to balance myself. My foot hits the metal container. My balance is screwed up and I fall. Fall backward into the yawning mouth of the metal coffin. I never see the face of the person who pushed me as they close the lid.

At first shock keeps me from realizing what has happened. Then the darkness combined with the confined space becomes real. The panic edges its way into my mind. No, not again. I begin to breath faster. In a minute of clarity I tell myself to lift the lid. I'm not underground. There's no dirt above me. My hands touch the cool metal of the lid. I push. It doesn't budge. I push harder. Still, it refuses to move. The panic comes back in full attack. With a cry of despair I start banging on the metal. I cry out for help as everything comes back to me. The night of the crime. Waking up in the box. All the dirt. The ants. The heat. Left with my gun to kill myself if I so desired. In my panic I put all I have into getting the lid open. Having tortured me enough the lid swings open.

I stumble from the container hitting the ground hard with my knees. My hands are bloody but I don't care. The air of the lab greets me. I scramble to get as far away from the box as possible. My back hits against something solid. The pick-up truck. I sit with my back against it. My eyes locked on the empty container. The damn box. I sit there, shivering and crying. Why? Why would someone push me into that damn container? Who's idea of sick joke was this?

The door opens and Grissom peeks. At the sight of me huddled and crying on the floor he comes in. I see him eye the box with the fresh blood smeared inside. He looks at my bloody hands. My panicked breathing. He crouches beside me and places a hand on my shoulder. Even though I know he's there I still jump.

"I thought I heard someone yelling," Catherine says as she breezes into the room. She stops when she sees me. "Nick?"

"Somehow he ended up in that," Grissom says gesturing to the mocking metal container. "From the blood on the inside and the blood on his hands I would say he got closed in."

"Oh, Nicky," concern washes over her. Before I know it she's by my side. "How…" The word brushes passed her lips like an afterthought.

The panic is still strong inside. My breathing still labored. My nerves still on edge. "Pushed," I managed to get out.

Grissom exchanges a look with Catherine before asking the all important question. "Who would want to push Nick into that?"


	10. Feeling the Heat

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

**

* * *

Chapter Nine: Feeling the Heat**

Greg sits on the couch beside me. The night has lost its battle with the day as the sun shines upon the world. A world full of evil. Even the sun can't stop people from committing crimes. If they'll commit them at night, they'll commit them during the day. I wish the sun away. Clouds would fit my mood better. Rain would be even better. There's never enough rain in the desert. Wishing for rain is like wishing on falling stars.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Greg asks.

I turn my head to look at him. "Talk about what?" I ask playing dumb.

"What happened," he replies.

"A lot has happened, Greg"

"Than let's talk about it all."

I return my attention to the movie on the television. Greg is unhappy being ignored and gets up to turn the TV off. He plops back down on the couch. Without much of a fight from me he takes the remote away. The place is quiet except for our breathing. Greg fiddles with the buttons on his shirt.

"So," he says breaking the silence. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Not what you want to talk about," I reply.

"Don't be an ass, Nicky," he retorts.

"You really want to talk? Alright, let's talk, we'll talk about us."

He shifts uncomfortably in his seat. "What about us?"

I ignore his discomfort. "Are we friends with benefits or more than that?"

"Does it matter?"

"Why do you have to answer my question with a question?"

He smiles. "Does it bother you?"

"Stop it, Greg." I get up to go to the kitchen for a soda. And to get away from Greg with his childish ways. He can be so childish at times but I love that about him. He refuses to be the business-minded man everyone else wants him to be.

I pull the soda from the coolness of the fridge. The door swinging closed makes me shiver. It reminds me of the incident in the garage at work. Who would want to push me into something like that? Everyone at the lab knows what happened to me. Could it be that someone has it in for me? I close my eyes and let the memory come back in full force. The person who pushes me is close to my height.

That instantly rules out Warrick and Grissom; both are taller than me. Catherine is shorter. Ecklie and Greg are only about two inches taller than me. That leaves me with Sara and Brass. I sip my soda. Sara isn't that kind of person. She wouldn't push me. It's not that I don't think she can, because she can do just about anything; she just doesn't seem like the type. Brass is rarely ever that far into the lab. The only person on my list that can be that cruel is Ecklie. I swear he hates everyone. Especially Grissom. What better way to get to Grissom than to have me suffering? He could order Griss to fire me.

"You get lost or something?" Greg asks walking into the kitchen.

I jump at the sound of his voice. He's standing in the entrance studying me. "No, is there something you wanted?"

He looks at the floor. "Well, um, I got lonely without you."

"I'm sorry, Greggo," I sigh. I put my soda on the counter.

He walks up to me. "You left the room like a bat out of hell. Something bothering you?"

"Just the fact that you keep avoiding the issue at hand."

He sticks his hands in the back pockets of my jeans. "Why talk about it? Talking isn't much fun."

He kisses me. As much as I want to talk I want him more. We let our tongues explore each others mouths. Our lips part long enough for shirts to be removed. I enjoy Greg's touch as he explores. He lightly traces a finger from my bellybutton to the waist of my jeans.

"The bedroom would be more comfortable," I whisper.

* * *

I grab the insistently ringing phone. "Stokes."

"Nick? You sound out of breath, are you okay?" Grissom asks.

I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. I am so tired of those damn words. "Fine, Grissom. Was just working out." Well, it's not like it's lie.

"Nick, get back here," Greg yells from the bedroom. I pray that Grissom doesn't hear him.

"Was that Greg?"

Damn. "Uh, yes."

"Good. Look, Ecklie has called an early meeting for the night shift. You need to be in early, and since Greg is there I'd be happy if you'd save me a call and pass the message on," he explains.

"Sure, we'll be there shortly."

"Don't be late, Nick. I don't have a good feeling about this meeting."

He hangs up before I can ask him about his ominous warning. I gently place the phone back in its cradle. Greg is moving around and bumps into something. I hear him swear. He stumbles out of the bedroom rubbing his elbow. His eyes fall on me.

He smiles. "Wow, the view from here is amazing."

I shake my head. "We need to go to work early, Greggo."

"Aw, and we were having so much fun," he pouts. I walk pass him without saying anything about his remark. "Hey, where are you going?"

"Uh, duh, to shower. I don't feel like going to work covered in sweat. I hate the way my skin feels when it's covered in dried sweat."

I leave him standing naked in the bedroom. The mirror over the sink catches my eye. Good thing I've decided to take a shower, I look like someone who has spent the day in bed; which I have. The cut on my arm is healing nicely. My knuckles are still a bit sore from the accident. Turning away I turn the water on in the shower. In a few minutes it's the perfect temperature. I step under the water to let it wash the day away. I close my eyes, place my hands on the wall, and lean forward letting the water cascade down.

Greg wraps his arms around my waist and lays his head on my back. "Mm, that water feels so nice."

I spin around to face him. He slips and almost loses his balance. I take his arm to help steady him. "Greg-"

He shrugs. "We both need to shower. This just works out better. At least I think it does." He leers at me.

"Don't make us late. Ecklie will have our hides," I comment, turning my back on him again.

I hear him fumbling with something. "He can't have yours; I'm not done with it yet."

He turns me around. The water has completely ruined his wacky hairdo; which I actually like. It makes him sexier. He runs his hands over my chest in a messaging manner. I feel myself getting aroused as he begins to lather-up every part of my body. This is not the kind of shower I had been planning to take. The fire in my body roars back to life. If being late for Ecklie's stupid meeting meant more time with Greg's skilled hands, than late I am willing to be. I want to enjoy life's little pleasures. Or, in this case, the pleasures of Greg.


	11. Invisible Evidence

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

**

* * *

Chapter Ten: Invisible Evidence**

I depart from Greg at the front door to the lab. Some how we make it on time. I'm walking down the hall when someone slips their arm around mine.

"Evening, Nicky," Sara says.

"Hey."

"This whole coming in early thing sucks. Especially since it's a meeting with Ecklie." She spits his name out like a bad wine.

"Tell me about it. This is not a great way to start the shift."

"Let's just get it done and over with, shall we?"

I grimace. "If only it was that easy."

We walk arm in arm to Ecklie's office. Warrick and Catherine are already there. To my surprise so is Brass. Greg walks in behind Sara and me. He acts like we haven't seen each other all day. I notice Sara studying us. Confident that she's not going to say anything in the company of the others I sit in an empty chair. Warrick and Catherine stand together talking in hushed voices. Sara starts a conversation with Brass while Greg stands by the door ready to make a quick exit. Ecklie is behind his desk filling out paperwork. The door opens one more time.

"How nice of you to finally join us, Gil," Ecklie says.

Grissom takes a seat in the empty chair beside me. He gives me a reassuring glance that is anything but.

Ecklie closes the folder on his desk. "Now that everyone is here we can start this meeting."

"What's this about, Conrad?" Grissom asks.

"CSI Stokes."

My head snaps up and I glare at Ecklie. "What the hell about me?"

He ignores me. "I know that you are all friends here-"

"I believe that Nick asked you a question," Grissom interrupts.

Sighing, he looks at me. I can read the distaste on his face. Of course, I don't care that he doesn't like me. Is that any reason to hold a meeting about it?

"The sheriff and I have been talking. We both agree that Stokes should be put on a leave of absence," Ecklie explains.

I bit my tongue as I remember Greg asking me about getting that exact thing. Did he mention it to Ecklie? No, he wouldn't. He'd ask Grissom before even thinking of setting foot in Ecklie's office.

"Why do you feel this needs to be, Conrad?" Grissom inquires.

"I believe that Stokes' mental state may well be affected. There are lasting affects from being kidnapped and buried alive. After the incident in the garage the other night I feel that having him working at crime scenes is a liability."

"So you're going to force him to take time off?" Grissom's voice is emotionless.

"I feel that he needs to be away from work and to spend time with a therapist," Ecklie replies in a holier-than-thou voice.

"I've seen no evidence to suggest that Nick is incapable of doing his job." Grissom's voice is still lacking in emotion. I notice that everyone else is uncomfortably quiet. Nice way to stick up for me.

"Are you aware that Stokes is sleeping with a co-worker?" Ecklie questions.

My blood runs cold and I'm sure the color drains from my face. It takes a great deal of will-power not to look at Greg. Looking at him will give it away. Who would have told Ecklie about us? Aside from Greg and me, Sara is the only other person who knows. She hates Ecklie as much everyone else does. She wouldn't have said anything. Sara isn't the type to betray a friend. Not since Grissom had her investigate Warrick.

Grissom glances briefly at me. "What business of that is yours? Nick is allowed a private life like everyone else."

Ecklie frowns. He's not getting the responses that he wants. "You may all leave. Nick, Grissom, you stay. We're not done."

I watch as the others file out of the office. Sara places a hand on my shoulder before leaving. I can see the questions written on Warrick's face and the worry on Catherine's. The door shuts softly behind them, leaving Grissom and I alone in the cage.

"You mean to tell me that you are not concerned that Stokes is sleeping with Sanders?"

My heart stops. How can he know? Who told him? And what right does he have to air my business out in front of my boss? Afraid of letting anger take control and tearing Ecklie's head off I stand from my chair. Without as much as a bye I leave the office. It's not right. If I wanted the world to know about me I would have told them. Ecklie crossed the line. I cross my arms over my chest to keep from hitting something as I walk down the hall. A few feet from the office I walk pass the others. They're all clustered together talking amongst themselves. Upon seeing me they go quiet. I continue on without a word. I don't need them. I don't need any of them.

I let my feet carry me to wherever they wish to go. Pass the various lab equipment. Pass the reception area. Out into the coolness of the night. The air is heavy with the threat of rain. Let it fall. Let it fall like it did the night that little girl's family got murdered. Let it wash me from the world and the memories of all those I counted as friends. Take me away from the pain. I keep walking. Waiting for it to rain. I start pacing the parking lot. Inside my feelings mix together. It's all a matter of time before the rest of them find I've been sleeping with Greg. How will they take it? Poor Greg. He doesn't deserve this. He won't even talk to me about us. Now everyone will know.

The rain finally starts to fall. Tomorrow the world will be cleansed of the sins from the day before. New sins will be there, waiting to be found. Thunder bellows in the clouds. Lightning photographs the sky. I scream at the heavens. With arms wide open I let the rain soak me through. I wish to be like fog and to dissipate in the rain. To disappear from the world.

Following an urge I climb into my car. I listen to the engine roar to life. The windshield wipers keep the rain at bay as I drive to destination unknown. I follow the roads until they lead me to a stretch of desert. The rain has let up a little and I pull to the side of the road. I should be at the lab working my shift. Why couldn't this have been a normal night? Easy, because nothing has been normal since that damn coffin. Ecklie's right. I guess hell finally did freeze over.

My phone rings. Like a robot I answer it. "Hello?" My voice is raspy.

"Nicky, we need to talk. Come back to the lab," Grissom says.

Com back to the lab? I hang up without saying anything. Why should I return to the lab? So that he can fire me? I throw the phone into the passenger seat. It settles quietly beside my gun. My gun. I reach over to pluck it from the seat. The coolness of the metal feels welcoming to my skin. Here's my answer, the one I've been seeking. The rain didn't wash me from the world. This gun, it has the power to take me away. I've seen the power it has. It can take away the memories, the questions. Everything.

I don't check it. I know that it's fully loaded. It always is. I cock it and listen to the click echo in the quiet car. Who would have guessed that Ecklie is right? Staring into the night at the stars as the peek through the clouds I pull the trigger.


	12. Bad Words

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

**

* * *

Chapter Eleven: Bad Words**

The gun jams. The damn thing jams. I don't understand. I know it's cleaned. There's no reason for the malfunction. In frustration I throw it onto the floor of the passenger side. I bang my fists on the steering wheel. Nothing ever works the way I want it to. Tears leave fiery tracks on my face. I rest my head on the steering wheel and let out a yell. My fists clench at the air. The cell phone resting in the other seat starts ringing again. I pick it up and glare at the number. Grissom never knows when to quit. I turn the phone off. As an afterthought I throw it into the backseat.

The clouds from the brief thunderstorm are gone. Once again I'm watched by the stars. Those damn beacons of hope; holders of dreams. The stars that watch over me every night. I climb out of the car. Frustration and anger boil together in my blood. I feel at means end. I feel like throwing something, breaking glass; maybe even hurting myself. That's it. I glance at the cut on my arm. The one that I made. It was so easy. I walk quickly back to the car and pop the glove compartment. Inside rests a small switchblade. Grissom would be unhappy to know that I have it. You just never know when you're going to need it. And I need it now.

I think about how easy it was to make that first cut. A knife is much easier to control than a gun. A knife can't get jammed. I'm the power the knife needs to do its work. I sit on the driver's seat and stare into the night. It's oddly quiet. Being outside the city limits is worth it. Without a second thought I cut into my skin. The blood trickles from the small cut above my elbow. The release that I feel is amazing. The anger and frustration subside, but don't go away.

This is it. This is the way to go. Not with the gun. Use the knife. They have to know though. They have to know why I did it. Maybe then they'll see. That's all that I want. They need to see. I place the switchblade on the dashboard and pull the notebook from the glove compartment. A pen is safely tucked away in the spine. I flip it open. The pen hits the paper and I write what's really in my heart.

_Frequently I sit and wonder. Does my life mean anything? To anyone? Have I made a difference? If I've made a difference, will they remember me when I'm gone? Was the difference enough to actually change a life? Sure, my work is to solve crimes. But that just makes me a puzzle solver._

_All anyone ever sees is the CSI. They never see the person under the initials. They never think about me and the things in my life. No one ever looks pass the gun. It's always about the gun. What does he do with that gun? Does he know how to use it? Can he defend himself?_

_Obviously I can't defend myself. That guy got the better of me. He was able to kidnap me from a fake crime scene. I was too dumb to notice the signs. Too dumb to put up a fight. You all watched me as I suffered. You saved me. You think I'm better. I can see it in your eyes. You all see the me that I was before. Before I was locked up in a coffin and buried alive. But that me is long gone. I got passed the babysitter who molested me. I got passed having guns pointed at me. I've even gotten passed being stalked and nearly killed by that maniac. All of those things seem so unimportant. So minor. Why can't any of you see that I'm hurting so bad inside?_

_Sara, I know that you have your owner troubles. I know about your parents. You think that Grissom is the only one who knows. But I do. And I understand why you are the way you are. I don't blame you. In fact, I believe I understand you better. Who wouldn't be bitter if their mother murdered their father? That is definitely not a happy childhood. Then you fall in love with someone who doesn't return those feelings. Yes, Grissom cares about you. As a friend. You want so much more though. _

_Grissom, you are the most aggravating person I know. How can you work a job that is all about people when you have absolutely no people skills? I have never met anyone else like you. You find solace in your science and your bugs. But deep down, you'll never be happy. You're ignoring what's right in front of you. Open your eyes. Look at the world as it really is. Not the way it needs to be._

_Catherine, what can be said about you? You made a difference in your life. You changed it. Not a lot of showgirls would give up all that money to work with dead bodies. But you did. For your daughter. She is your meaning for living. I catch you staring at her picture when you think no one is looking. Maybe you should take some time off. Spend it with her before she's gone. You'll regret it if you don't. They grow up so fast. Just ask Brass._

_Warrick, a man of so many mysteries. You took everyone by surprise when we found out that you had gotten married. I never expected you to settle down. Not so quickly. Personally, I always thought there was something between you and Catherine. But I must have been greatly mistaken. Remember that I'm not that good a detective. Stay away from the gambling. Or she might leave you. Most women like stability. Don't screw it up, man. Someone deserves to find happiness in this life. Take it while you can._

_Greg, what can be said about you? Although you have changed my life in so many ways, it just doesn't seem to be enough. The feelings won't go away. The voices are always there. Haunting me. Taunting me. It's never going to get better. I'm sorry that I did this to you. _

_I'm sorry for everything. For every single time I fucked up. My life is nothing to be proud of. Not in the least. So I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I exist. Sorry that I came into your lives._

_And I know that you will try to figure out why I did what I did. You'll never understand. None of you ever will. If you did, I wouldn't be here. Writing this. Forgive me. I'll watch over you. All of you. Stay together. No matter where life takes you. Be a part of each other's lives. Listen and love. _

_Don't cry for me. I'm not worth the tears._

_Love,_

_Nick Stokes_

Satisfied with the note I tear it from the notebook. Standing, I turn around and place the note on the seat. Beside it I place my CSI ID. I leave the gun resting on the floor. Why bother with it? It has never done me any favors. I pluck the switchblade from the dashboard. Closing the car door behind me I walk a few feet into the desert. Not exactly the way I thought it would end. It'll be good. I'll leave this world under the same stars that have said goodbye to countless others. It seems fitting to me.

I fall to my knees in the already dry sand. This is it, this is how it ends. Not by the gun of some crazy person. Not locked in a jail cell for murder. Not even buried alive. It ends by my own hand. I feel the tug of the blade as it slices across my skin once again. This time the flow of the blood is quicker. I shift the blade to my other hand and repeat the slice on the opposite wrist. I smile as the blade falls into the sand. Ecklie is right. He'll be happy that he is right. I am a liability. I can't even take care of myself.

I rest my arms on my legs. My knees dig into the rocky sand. As I gaze at the damned stars I let the tears flow. In my mind I wish everyone a heartfelt goodbye. How will my parents take hearing that I died? My mother will cry. My father will curse me for taking my own life. I don't care. They aren't here to help me; they've never helped me.

Maybe my death is just what Grissom needs to open his eyes. He needs to see that Sara loves him deeply. Will Warrick be there to comfort Catherine? Brass will treat it like any other officer lost in the line of duty. Ecklie will be happy. He'll finally be rid of me. They'll all be rid of me. Free from my grasp.

I fall forward onto the ground as the loss of blood makes me dizzy. There's a throbbing in my head. It doesn't stop me from thinking about Greg. The only bright spot in so many horrible days. If only I could understand his feelings. Will he miss me the way a lover misses their soulmate? Or will he miss me the way a child misses their dog?

"I'm sorry, Greg," I whisper.

The sand works its way into the wounds on my wrists. I feel the cold as it comes to take me away. Finally, to be free of this hell. I close my eyes. The last thing I see are the stars above. Always the stars. The darkness is taking me farther away second by second. I welcome it with open arms.

The sound of tires on gravel echo in my mind. Someone talking. The flash of lights. Footsteps in the sand. The slamming of a car door. More voices. Another flash of light. I close my eyes tighter. My breathing settles in to match the beating of my heart; slower and slower. The sound of running footsteps. A cry for help. A finger to my throat to find a pulse.

_It's too late…_


	13. Turn of the Screws

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

**

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Turn of the Screws**

My eyes open to a dimly lit room. The whir and buzz of hospital equipment keeps the silence at bay. I start crying as I realize what happened. Someone found me. They saved me again. Only this time I didn't want to be saved. I wanted to escape the pain. I still do. The bandages on my wrists look out of place. With anger and frustration I rip at the bandage on my left wrist. It doesn't belong there. I don't belong here. The bandage tears easily. The wound underneath is tender and fresh. The skin is easy to break. I watch the blood drip onto the blanket. I start on the right bandage when the door to my room opens.

"Nicky, stop it," Grissom orders. He leans back out the door and calls for a nurse.

He walks briskly up to the bed and grabs my right arm. I haven't gotten through the bandage. But that's okay. Enough blood is flowing from my body to make me dizzy. The nurse rushes into the room with a needle full of something. I feel the prick of the needle as it breaks the skin. The liquid is mixed with my blood and the room grows darker.

Who knows how much time passes before I wake up again? When I do I move my wrists. Or try to. They don't move the way I want them to. A glance shows me that my arms are bound to the bed. I'm being restrained. I pull at the restraints with what little power I have. Being buried in a coffin is bad enough. I keep struggling to free at least one of my arms.

A hand is placed on my shoulder. "I'm sorry, Nicky, but it had to be done. There's no use in fighting against them."

I glare at Grissom. What right does he have to do this to me?

He pulls up a chair and sits beside me. He studies me with unreadable eyes. It makes my skin crawl so I look away. Maybe if I ignore him he'll go away. Maybe I'm not really here. My mind is playing games with me. I died in the desert. I imagined the sounds of a car pulling up. No one checked me for a pulse. I died. This is all some sort of freaky dream. Nothing more.

"I wish I could understand," Grissom says.

The little dream bubble pops.

"Help me to understand, Nicky," he asks softly.

I pull against the restraints again. I feel like screaming but hold it in. How can he sit there and question me like a suspect? The only person I tried to murder was myself. He wasn't there to stop me. What use is it now? Grissom rests a hand on my arm to calm me.

"Settle down before you hurt yourself more, Nick."

"Leave me alone, Grissom," I demand.

"I can't do that, Nick. Your wellbeing is very important to me. Especially when it brings you to this. How…" He pauses. "Even I don't understand this, Nicky, and I'm a scientist."

I choose not to answer him. They've had their chances to talk. The signs were there. They didn't read them. They decided not to. I pick a point on the far wall and concentrate on it.

"Talk to me, Nick. I am currently down by two investigators and I would like some sort of explanation."

I don't tear my eyes from the wall. "Down by two?"

Grissom rubs his eyes. "Greg-"

"What about Greg? Is he okay?" I turn to look at him.

"Well, if you would let me finish. Greg had to be sedated."

Now it's my turn. "I don't understand."

He leans back in his chair. "After you stormed out last night Ecklie told me everything. I called you twice; the first time you answered, the second time you didn't. When Catherine told me how you looked storming out of the lab I got worried. We broke up into teams to look for you," he explains. "An officer told Brass that he saw one of our company SUVs heading off into the desert. I went with Greg to see where you were going." He stops talking. The silence disturbs me.

"And?"

"When Greg found you laying in the sand with the affects of what you had done to yourself he lost it. He refused to leave your side for anything. Even rode in the ambulance with you. Because he wouldn't leave your side he was there when…" Grissom trails off uncomfortably.

If he can push, so can I. "When what?"

He looks at me again. That ever studying gaze. Something in his eyes has changed. The fire in them seems dimmer. For the first time since I woke up I give him a hard look. He's wearing the same clothes from the night before. I notice the dark spots of blood. My blood. There are dark circles under his eyes. His hair is messed up. He clearly hasn't eaten or slept since…

"You scared use all, Nick. We almost lost you. Greg nearly followed your lead when you flat-lined. Sedating him was really the only choice we had. He obviously loves you," Grissom says softly.

Loves me, the words echo in my mind. For a moment in time I had actually died. My spirit had slipped away. I had died and damn near taken Greg with me. I feel the tears running their familiar races. My life has gone so wrong, so far down hill. The pain in my chest makes it hard to breath. I start coughing and notice how Grissom reacts. He's loses his calm façade as he jumps up to call for the nurse. I shake my head and point toward the water. He gets the point, pours me a glass, and hands it to me. I make short order of it.

"I'm sorry I messed up, Griss. I really am," I croak.

He shakes his head, patting my shoulder. "I fear it was to be expected. We all could have tried harder. We will this time. I promise."

I look him straight in the eyes. "I'm sorry about Greg."

"Why?"

Good question. Why should I be sorry for loving Greg? I've done nothing wrong. I turn away.

"I listened to everything that Ecklie had to say. Really, he had no right to bring up your personal life like that. I wish you had told me, Nicky."

I involuntarily try to rub my ear. The restraint digs into my skin. All the frustration and anger comes back again. I lay my head back on the pillow with a little more force than needed. Grissom gives me a worrying look.

"I'll have those removed. Only if you give me your word that you won't try hurting yourself."

"I won't. I swear. Just take them off." I feel exhausted. "They remind me of being confined in the coffin," I say as I feel myself drifting off.

* * *

When I awake I find myself alone in the dark room. My restraints have been removed. I flex my wrists. I can feel the tender skin moving underneath the bandage. My head is throbbing with the pain of a headache. I rub against the bandage, tracing my fingers slowly along it. The dark room pushes at the memories. Like a butterfly it flutters in my chest. I hear the sound of the fan. Feel the heat of the light. I remember shooting out that damn light. For once I find that I want to return to the coffin. Only this time I don't want to be alive.

I grip the bandage as I force my promise to Grissom from my mind. He'll have to understand. Even if he doesn't, I don't care. It's too much. I pull at the white gauze.

"Don't you dare," Greg says as he steps out of the dark.

He scares me and I let out a yelp of surprise. "Damn it, Greg, don't scare me like that."

"Scare you?" He looks positively pissed. "You don't want me to scare you? After the hell you put me through?"

"Greggo-"

"Was it something I did?" He asks innocently as the anger fades away.

I shake my head. "No, no, never you," I sob.

"Why didn't you talk to me?" He asks quietly.

"Not here, Greg, not now. Please, not now."

When had the page been turned? Wasn't I the one always wanting to talk and Greg the one always avoiding the issue? Greg stands beside me. He looked like an entirely different person. There is no spark in his eyes. No smile on his face. Not even a touch of playfulness to his voice. I did this to him. I changed him.

"I'm sorry," I whisper through the tears.

He doesn't say anything in response. He places a hand on my cheek and leans over. I feel the warmth of his lips. The life that is still inside him. The life he shares with me. I place my hand over his. The door opens interrupting the moment. Grissom clears his throat.


	14. Formalities

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

**

* * *

Chapter Thirteen: Formalities**

Two nights later I'm walking down the halls of the lab with Grissom by my side. I'm not supposed to be in the lab. I should be at home resting. Who the hell am I kidding? I don't even want to be at home. I don't want to be anywhere. And the last place I'd choose to be is here, at the lab. They all know about my relationship with Greg. Poor Greg, I wonder how he's dealing with things. He wouldn't talk about it when he visited the hospital. The one and only time he paid me a visit.

I try to ignore the aching pit growing inside. My life has changed so much. First I have to get passed being buried. While attempting to do just that things start up with Greg. Now he doesn't seem to want to talk to me. I hurt him. I stop walking. Grissom turns to look at me.

"Nicky, something wrong?"

I hold myself in an effort to seek some comfort. "I don't want to see them."

He pats my shoulder in an odd friendly gesture. "It'll be okay, Nick. Trust me on this one."

"No," I shake my head.

Grissom looks at me the way he used to. "You have to do it eventually, Nick. There are things that need to be done and you are needed to do them. Come on."

With a heavy heart I follow after him. I know what Grissom is up to and I'm not too pleased. The idea of his experiment is chilling. I should have done a better job when I slit my wrists. Perhaps had I been quicker and not taken the time to write that stupid note I would be gone. Instead I agree to go along with my boss on his crazy ideas. I know that he has a reason for doing this. He cares. Plus, he's a scientist who happens to need an answer for everything.

"Stop walking so slow. The longer it takes to get there the longer it takes to get this done. I don't know what you're worried about. Greg isn't here tonight. He called in to take the night off," Grissom states.

Greg took the night off? Maybe he's not okay. Maybe he is going to follow my lead. Greg loves his job. He had never been late. Hearing that he has taken the night off worries me. I shiver with the touch of fear. I must make some sort of noise because Grissom raises an eyebrow at me. The fire has returned to his eyes. The normal Grissom is back in full swing. My suicide attempt made him vulnerable but not enough so that he went running to Sara. Grissom isn't going to change. How can he ignore the urges? How can he ignore Sara's pain?

"Nick, you look like you're going to collapse," Grissom's concerned voice breaks through my barrier of thoughts.

"I hurt him," I choke. "I hurt him bad and I don't know how to make things better. I screwed up."

Grissom gives me a smile. Not a mocking smile or a smile of amusement. It's a smile full of sympathy, friendship, and understanding. "Everyone makes mistakes. Give him a day or two more and I'm sure things will be better. Look at it from his point of view, Nick. He nearly lost you. You can't expect him to act normal within hours of the event."

We continue are trek to the garage. I pray that Grissom is right. Falling in love with Greg is something I never planned for. It happens though. Greg is supposed to be my calm in the raging storm. But it all went wrong. I felt ashamed to love him. Now all I want is to feel his touch. To hear his voice as he tells me about every little thing in the world. I want to see that smile that always puts sparkles in his eyes. Right now I want to be lying next to him listening to him breathe and feeling the warmth of his body.

"Earth to Nick. We have work to do."

My eyes glance around the garage. The pick-up truck is long gone. But the metal box is still here. The blood I left on the inside of the lid is still there. Pieces of yellow crime scene tape have been strung around it. Most likely by Grissom. Leave it up to him to want to find out who pushed me. He wants to recreate the fucking joke. I've already told him that I won't even set foot into that box, never mind lying inside. When I said that he told me that he would never ask me to do such a thing. In fact, whether or not the recreation happens is all up to me. He makes that perfectly clear.

After going over it five times I feel the panic beginning to creep. Grissom must read something in my body language because he calls it quits. He takes me to the break room where he forces me to sit.

He places a bottle of cold water on the table in front of me. "Drink this; you look like you need it."

I unscrew the cap and sip the cold water within. "Thank you."

He sits across from me. "I think I can take things from here. If you want to go home I can have Catherine give you a ride."

"She won't be happy to hear you volunteering for her," I say.

"She'll get over it. I don't want you driving by yourself." He doesn't say everything that he wants but I know what the missing words are. He doesn't want me driving off like last time.

"I'll grab a cab. There's no need to bother Catherine."

"I can take you," Sara says. We both turn to look at her. Neither one of us knew she was there. "If that's okay with you, Griss."

"It's up to Nick," he replies.

* * *

I close the door to my place as Sara backs out of the driveway. The entire way home she carried on a one-sided conversation. The silence had been too uncomfortable for her. I hadn't wanted to talk at all. She went on and on about everyone at the lab. Catherine still isn't spending time with her daughter. Grissom refuses to let love rule his world. My note did nothing. Would their views of life be changed if I were actually dead?

The house is quiet. I think back to the family of a little girl. The house had once been full of laughter. So had mine. I should have moved after the incident with the stalker. But moving meant that my stalker had won. My stalker didn't win. The kidnapper did. I look at the white bandages that still cover my wrists. Underneath them stitches are helping to heal the wounds of my defeat. I lock the door before heading toward my bedroom.

I flip the light on in the bathroom. The sight of my shower stabs me with pain. I want the light on for comfort. Not to remember Greg. I don't need help to remember him. I need help to forget him. I flick the light off and close the door. The silent hiss of wood against wood locks out the shower memories. I walk numbly to my bed. My empty bed.

The mattress welcomes me with its familiarity. It's better than the damn hospital bed. What I wouldn't give to be back in that bed though. At least that bed has no loving memories. Mine smells like Greg. The pillows, the sheets, everything. In anger I throw one of the pillows across the room. From one haunting experience to the next. I grab an extra blanket and head out to the couch. Before curling up on the waiting sofa I push the coffee table a few feet away.

Even away from the bedroom and his smell he's still on my mind. I swear I can feel him beside me. I reach out in the dark. There's no comfort there. There never is.


	15. Unbearable

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

**

* * *

Chapter Fourteen: Unbearable**

The lights flicker like a strand of twinkling Christmas lights. A cool breeze passes through the house. I tug on the cuffs of my long sleeved shirt. The breeze feels refresh on my sweaty skin. Tonight is unusually warm making my choice of clothing almost unbearable. The long sleeves of the black shirt cover up the bandages on my wrist. Hiding the white reminders creates a false sense of normalcy. The lights flicker again casting shadows that last merely seconds.

"Damn, if this storm keeps up we'll lose electricity," Warrick says.

He's down on one knee taking photographs of bloody footprints on the light blue carpet. I stand at the edge of the room feeling a great does of unease. The dark skinned CSI puts his camera down to pluck something from the carpet with a pair of shiny tweezers. I look away from my former best friend. Things between us are different. I know that it's not him, that it is in fact me. Warrick tries to act like nothing has changed. He jokes around with me while at the same time avoiding to mention Greg.

Grissom walks slowly down the hallway of the house with his eyes trained on the carpet. I watch the older man as he does what he loves best. The only reason I'm at this scene tonight is because of him. He fought tooth and nail with Ecklie to let me come. Ecklie suggested removing me from my position in the lab, maybe even permanently. Grissom managed to convince him that it would not be in his best interest to fire me. Some comment about helping my mental state. Why Ecklie cares about my mental state is a mystery to me.

Now, here I stand, watching the others do what they get paid to do. Ecklie demanded that I be under Grissom's watchful eye. If I fucked up, Grissom fucked up. However, no one is going to fuck up. Ecklie made sure of that. I'm not allowed to touch or help process a crime scene in any way. Instead I'm supposed to stand by and watch on the sidelines. I still have a job but not the job I'm used to. Standing here being the observer is annoying. Grissom assures me that in the long run it will be helpful. I'll learn to notice things quicker. All I've noticed is the rhythm of the rain on the roof.

Greg walks up Warrick and they start talking in hushed voices. Things between them haven't changed at all. It's almost though Greg and I never slept together. If possible, Warrick and Greg seem closer. I feel the jealousy inside trying to claw its way out. I shift my position to distract my mind from the picture of Greg's naked body. He throws a glance my way before leaving the room. Warrick returns to working the living room.

I know that I'm supposed to stay within view of Grissom but I follow after Greg. He's become an addiction. My skin aches to feel the touch of him. My body longs to be next to his. I find him in the two-car garage. His back is to me. I study him. He bends down to get a closer look at something. I watch as his jeans hug his lower half like a second skin. I feel myself getting aroused. Before he can turn around to find me watching him I make a beeline for the door.

The rain outside soaks me with its cold touch. I feel the heat leave my body. Grissom steps out the front door behind me. He stays under the protection of the covered porch while watching me.

"Something out here catch your attention, Nick?" He calls. The thunder in the distance nearly drowns out the sound of his voice.

"I can't be near him. Not like this." I don't turn to look at him. I enjoy the feeling of the rain. My desire to jump Greg isn't fading.

"Now you know why I don't exactly support office romances. I don't know what to do about this, Nicky." He gestures for me to come up onto the porch. "You're soaked and your immune system is weak, get up here out of the rain."

I step up beside him. "I'm not going back into the house, Griss. Not while he's there."

He sighs. Fishing the keys to the Tahoe out of his pocket he hands them to me. "Take the SUV back to the lab. Get changed and go home. That's all I can offer you. Ecklie is watching you."

"I don't want to go back to the lab."

"Then you have to stay here. With Greg," he points out.

I follow him back into the house. Warrick has moved on from the living room. Greg is visible in the kitchen. I look down at the tile floor. Grissom won't want me to walk all over the crime scene dripping water. I plant myself firmly in the doorway. Grissom disappears up the staircase to locate Warrick. Greg wanders into the living room and notices me.

"Impromptu shower?"

I turn my back on him. It's rude to do but I don't want to talk to him. Not here. Not now. We need to actually hash out our problems. A good old fashion fight might be just what we need. He grabs my wrist.

"Nick-"

I don't want him to touch me. Not like this. "Don't touch me, Greg. Not here and not now."

He leans in close. I can smell his shampoo. The laundry detergent he uses. Even the soap he uses in the shower. I feel myself spiraling out of control. I want to hold him close again. To say his name in the heat of the moment. Forget that Warrick and Grissom are here. Is it wrong of me to want to bare his flesh right here and now? I want to make him sweat. To make his heart race.

Instead I step back. Greg lets go of me and walks away. But not before I see the hurt in his eyes. Grissom takes his time descending the stairs. How much of that did he see? He stops at the bottom.

"I'm going to say this now. I disagree with office romance. But I can't have two of my detectives working like this. If you and Greg don't deal with this I don't know what I'm going to do."

I put my hand out. "Can I have the keys to the Tahoe now? I feel like going back to the lab."

He drops the keys into my open hand with a sigh. He's disappointed and I don't care. The rain is still falling outside. If I had any dry spots before I definitely don't have any left by the time I reach the SUV. I drive off into the darkness of the night.

* * *

A knock on the window scares me half to death. I open my eyes and I'm instantly confused. It takes me a few seconds to figure out that I'm still sitting in the Tahoe. I rub my eyes before peering out the driver's window. Grissom glares back at me. He pops open the door. The cool night air rushes in. The rain has stopped for now. I step out of the car not ready to face Grissom's questions.

"What the hell are you doing, Nicky? Sleeping in a car in Las Vegas isn't exactly the best idea. You should know that better than anyone," he says.

"I'm sorry, Griss. I stopped to relax my mind. I didn't plan on falling asleep. You have to believe me," I explain. "How did you find me anyway?" Last time I saw him he was working a crime scene.

"Brass found you. He notified me of your resting place. With Ecklie watching us both like a hawk I figured I'd come see what was going on. I'm very pleased that Brass called me without reporting this. He's risking his job you know," he replies.

"I'm sorry. I'll head right home," I apologize.

"I know you will. Brass is going to take you home while I drive the Tahoe back to my crime scene."

Without another word my boss climbed into the company vehicle and drove away. Brass stands beside his unmarked patrol car. He's watching me with questioning eyes. I'm tired of people studying me like a freak in some circus show. Big deal, so I've changed. They wouldn't be the same after being buried alive. No one would. I climb into the patrol car doing my best to ignore the older man. The ride to my place is quiet and uncomfortable. Brass never once tries to make small talk which is unlike him. Things have changed. Everyone has been treating me differently since finding out about Greg. Sara and Grissom are the only real exceptions. I can only imagine how Greg feels. He doesn't talk to me.

Brass pulls up in front of my place. In a childish manner I get out, slam the door and storm to the front door. Why is my life so fucked up?


	16. Still Life

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Nick

**

* * *

Chapter Fifteen: Still Life**

I'm roused by the rapping of knuckles on my door. The person waiting outside is trying desperately to get my attention. In a half-sleepy state I trudge toward the obnoxious sound. I open the door and the sun shines in momentarily blinding me. A shadow shaped like person breezes into my residence. They slam the door shut. My eyes adjust to the dimmer lighting of the building.

My gaze is met by the appearance of Greg. His hair is messed up, his eyes wide with some hidden excitement. His clothes are the same from the night before. They're all wrinkled. Whatever thought or idea had come to him hit him during his work shift. His chest heaves slightly with the increased pace of his breathing. I used to do that to him.

"Something I can do for you, Greg?" I ask. I almost let slip the nickname I use for him. A nickname that is more for the lovers that we were and not the friends that we are.

"I've been thinking," he starts. "My mind has been centered on one thing all night and what few hours there have been of this day. And that one thing is you, Nick."

"Me?" The thought of Greg thinking about me ups my heart-rate.

"There is a lot of talking we need to do. I think that it's time we sit down and get it all out," he says. He runs a hand nervously through his hair causing it to stick up in some places. It just makes him look cuter.

"Than let's sit," I say with a gesture toward the couch.

Greg walks over to the couch with an air of impatience. I chance a quick look at my watch; I'd only slept for four hours. What could be bothering Greg so much that he's acting this way? I follow him to the couch and sink down beside him. While I lean back against the cushions Greg sits on the edge of his seat.

"So, you want to talk. Start talking," I say to break the encroaching silence.

His eyes look at me. The sorrow in them is easily readable. "I'm sorry, Nicky, I really am. I feel this is my fault. You tried to kill yourself and it's all my goddamn fault."

I wave a hand in the air to interrupt him. "Why is it your fault? You didn't give me the switchblade, Greg. You didn't force me to slit my wrists."

He starts crying. "Don't you see? It is my fault. I pushed you into that box in the garage, Nick. It was all my doing," he sobs.

The words send shards of ice water down my back. The man I thought of as my lover pushed me into the depths of my personal hell. I frown in disbelief and anger. "How…how could you?"

He grabs my hand and wraps it in his. "It was an accident. I swear, Nick. I was walking by the garage when I heard someone inside. The room was kind of dark and I admit, I didn't look real hard. A few minutes before that I had seen Ecklie walking around. He had pissed me off earlier in the night so I want to see what he was doing. But I lost him. Like I said, that's when I heard the noise in the lab-"

I place my free hand on his knee. "Slow down, man. Take a breath or two and calm down."

He takes a deep breath before continuing his explanation. "I knew that the truck was in the lab and Grissom had a case tied to it. My mind instantly told me that Ecklie was trying to screw up Grissom's case. To make him look bad. So I decided to get even with him. I remembered the metal box. Then thought of how great it would be to give him the hell that you had already been through."

At this point he got up to start pacing. I hate when people pace while talking to me but I lean back to let him work out his problems.

"So I looked in. I saw someone standing there with their back to the box. It was perfect. I shoved and the person fell. The lid slammed shut on top of them. It was a small victory. Not wanting to be caught I ran from the scene before you started yelling for help. It was only later that evening that I learned what I had done," he finished on the verge of panic. "I'm so sorry, Nick. I should have told you sooner but I..."

"Greg, come over here and sit. I can't watch you pace anymore. You're making my head hurt."

With a heavy heart he sits back down beside me. "There's more, Nick."

The fear grips my chest and makes it harder to breathe. "There's more?" I hear myself ask.

"It's also my fault that Ecklie found out about us. The new lab tech told him. I was just trying to be friendly when she started hitting on me. It slipped out that I loved you. I didn't know that she was kissing Ecklie's ass," he says with anger. "Had I known, I wouldn't have let it slip. See, I told you that this is all my fault. You have to forgive me. Please-"

I place my hand over his mouth to shut him up. If I let him go on I'll never get a word in edgewise. "You love me?"

His eyes meet mine and he nods. I let my hand slip from his mouth. Greg just confessed to loving me. There has to be a way to tell him the same thing without actually saying it. I've put him through hell and he feels responsible when he's not. There has to be something. I know what I can do. I leave him sitting on the couch while I rummage around in my room for something. When I find it I return to the living room. Greg is holding himself on the couch. His eyes dart to me as I walk back toward him.

"Give me your hand," I say.

He holds out his hand as I sit back down. I slip my little gift onto his palm. He pulls his hand back to exam the little object I've given him. His eyes tear up again. "A ring? For me?"

I watch him as he studies the sleek steel gray band. "It's hematite. My mother sent it to me. Many believe that hematite absorbs negativity, clears your mind, and chases away stress. I want you to have it. As a token of my love for you."

He smiles through the tears as he slips the band onto his finger. "It fights perfectly," he whispers. In a moment of weakness he embraces me. I wrap my arms around him, enjoying the feel of his touch. "I'm sorry," he whispers again.

I rub his back. "No, I'm sorry. I should have talked to you. If only I could redo everything."

"I love you, Nick, and I want the whole world to know."


	17. Bodies in Motion

**Title:** Inside My Coffin

**Disclaimer:** Slash. Suicide. Angst. Language.

**POV**: Greg

**

* * *

Chapter Sixteen: Bodies in Motion**

"I'm not going to work tonight," Nick mutters into the silence of the room.

"Oh, why?" I ask as I stir on the couch beside him. We've been sitting here enjoying each other's presence for a few hours now. I move my head from his shoulder where I have been resting it.

"I want to give Grissom a night off. He doesn't need to be worrying about me. Last thing I want to do is stress-out the boss-man," he remarks with a sigh.

I run my hand up and down his arm creating a tickling sensation. "That's very thoughtful of you. I'm going to call in sick then. I want to spend the night with you." I lean a bit closer to him. "I've missed you, Nicky."

Our lips meet with the hunger that has built up in the last few days. The taste of his lips drives the hunger into a flame of passion. The memory of the first time I kissed him on this very couch floods my mind. That first moment when our lips touched I knew. It was supposed to be a joke amongst friends. To say that I saw fireworks that cherished day would be far from the truth. I felt like the world had gone away and left me with this burning desire. I knew then and there that I had to have more. I had to touch him. To love him.

Nick mumbles something between our heated kisses. He gently pushes me away before climbing from the couch. I watch as he heads to the bedroom. He wants me to follow, and I will. Absentmindedly I twist the band of solid gray that now rests on my finger. A token of love. It creates a feeling that I never want to leave me. As I head to the room after Nick I realize that the only gift I have to give him is my soul. He already owns my heart.

Nick's strong arms embrace me from behind as I step into the room. The curtains are closed to keep out the shining beauty of the sun and curious eyes of people. I inhale the scent of the man I've come to love. The mix of aftershave, shampoo, and cologne is intoxicating. A scent that is purely him. I want him to cover every inch of my body in it so that the world will know who I belong to.

His lips brush against the nape of my neck. The soft touch causes me to shiver and sends waves of pleasure through my body. I lean into him as his warm hands touch the skin under my shirt. I feel myself going weak in the knees but I'm safe with his arms around me. In one fluid motion he draws my shirt over my head leaving the cool air to brush against my bare skin. Within a flurry of kisses and caresses we're soon standing in nothing but our underwear.

I step away from Nick to take in the delicious view of him. His chiseled body with perfect abs. How his boxer-briefs fit him like a second skin. The only imperfection are the soon to be scars on his wrists. A moment of pain seizes me. I came so close to losing the one person I've ever really loved. I never let anyone know just how much as I was so deep in love with him. Now I would let the world know. Their views don't matter to me anymore. The only thing that matters is being with Nick.

We fall onto the bed wrapped up in one another. I can feel his heart beat. His heat. His every breath. My soul is hungry for him and him alone. I enjoy the weight of his body on mine. The feel of his hands as they pursue my body like buried treasure. We strip off the last of our garments. A stray ray of sun colors his skin a honey-gold.

"I feel like I'm melting," I whisper.

"The fire hasn't reached its hottest flame yet," he replies in a breathy voice.

"Nick, don't torture me. It feels like years since you last touched me. We can fool around later. Right now I just want you to love me." My voice is low and raspy.

"I love hearing you say my name."

I utter his name again as he takes me down the road to the high we're both dying to reach. He plays me like an instrument, tickling the keys. He coaxes the music from me and translates my moans into his melody. I feel that he knows me better than I do. I don't belong to myself anymore…

His name escapes me as the white hot high hits in full force. My mind goes blank and I feel like I'm flying in a sea of blue. Only his touch on my skin can safely bring me back. We hold each other, two sweaty bodies entwined. If I never have to leave this room again I'll die happy.

* * *

I sit beside Nick who is sleeping peacefully. The day is starting to give 'way to night. My hand reaches out to touch my sleeping lover but I don't. He hasn't slept so soundly for days now it would be a shame to wake him. I ease out of the bed to carry my naked self to the pile of forgotten clothes near the bedroom door. It takes me only a second to find my cell phone. With cat like stealth I return to my position on the bed.

Night is coming and shift will start soon. I hit speed-dial to make my call.

"Grissom."

"Hey, it's Sanders. I'm not coming into work tonight. Is that okay?" I never know where I stand with Grissom. He can be a little intimidating.

"Yes, that's fine. Thank you for letting me know in advance," he replies.

Nick stirs beside me. I remember him saying that he wished to stay home. "Um, Grissom, Nick isn't coming into work either."

"Is he okay?" I can hear the deep friendly concern in his voice.

"I think he's trying to figure things out," I confess.

A lengthy silence on the other end of the phone has me checking to make sure the connection wasn't lost. Grissom finally says, "Greg, I think he needs you more than anyone else right now. Don't let him down."

The words echo in my mind even after we hang up. Grissom accepts us. Maybe now he'll see that office romance isn't necessarily a bad thing. Maybe he'll finally notice Sara the way I finally noticed Nick. I curl up next to Nick to sleep away the night time hours. Tomorrow we'll have breakfast with our colleagues. Our friends. We'll all sit together and talk like old times. Like things haven't changed. It's time for the healing process to being for all of us.

**Fin**


End file.
